


blue cerulean sky

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, M/M, No Manga Spoilers, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7958221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is them, tearing up the road. They are together again and Jin thinks that the wind cannot get any more glorious than this.</i>
</p><p>In which Jin looks away, and looks back again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blue cerulean sky

**Author's Note:**

> This was me, thinking I'd make a start at filling up this woefully empty DAYS tag with a drabble, and then letting it grow to this. I regret nothing, because... Kazama/Tsukushi. _Kazama/Tsukushi!_ I just! /flaily arm gestures
> 
> No manga spoilers here, just one small reference to a detail that's different between manga and anime: in the manga, they have [a dramatic meeting](http://reader.shoujosense.com/read/days/en/1/1/page/50) [in the rain](http://reader.shoujosense.com/read/days/en/1/1/page/51) during that first futsal match they play together.
> 
> (Title from Ikimono-gakari's "Blue Bird". [Crossposted to my ficlet blog](http://larkwords.tumblr.com/post/149953692418/days-kazamatsukushi-a-reunion-in-the-rain))

 

 

"Kazama-kun," comes the voice on the wind, pitched high and wobbly and breathless because _of course_ he's breathless, of course he has run the whole way from his _home_ or something, somewhere, just as impossible and improbable; he has run across the highways and byways and woven his halting path through streets of lanterns, he has skidded in puddles and tripped and picked himself up again, and he has found him _here_ on the bridge, now, years later, and he has probably never stopped running.

It floats to Jin like a memory, first of all. Clear as a bell. _Kazama-kun,_ a rallying cry ringing true to his ears across muddy fields. He'd turn and see him over his shoulder, perilously close to the sidelines.

In another corridor: a tap on his arm, _Kazama-kun,_ like something that hitched in the back of his throat before it spilled forth, summer-bright and gold like Jin's hair, and he'd pulled it back in a ponytail for _this_ match, let Tsukushi flick strands out of his eyes and wish them both _good luck_.

He keeps those eyes trained forward for a moment longer. Dipping his head down, he cups his chin in his hands, leans over the parapet and thinks:

_I've missed those footsteps._

They're drawing closer. They make his pulse race in his veins, sure as a whistle and the widening view from the players' tunnel, the roar of the crowd an echo of the rush of blood to his head, the floodlights that come spilling onto the field. Always, by his side, at his back. All around him. The sound that saved him, that he's tattooed onto his own heartbeat.

Jin takes a deep breath. He feels the restlessness nipping at his heels.

"Hey, Tsukushi," he says, turning at last.

He's grown. _Of course_ he's grown. Not a day has gone by when Tsukamoto Tsukushi has not grown by the hour, the minute, every time Jin looked away and looked back again. But he's _grown_ , this time, in a way the rest of the world can see.

Jin smiles, and reaches out to pinch a rose-pink cheek. The backs of his knuckles brush Tsukushi's face, linger affectionately.

"What's this? Have you finally lost some of that _baby fat_?" he teases.

"Kazama- _kun_! I mean—yes—but you don't have to _say_ it like that!"

Jin breaks into a laugh, then, and so does Tsukushi, a little bashful, and then it's not a memory any more; it's the two of them with elbows bumping awkwardly and Jin's arm thrown round Tsukushi's shoulders a moment later, their preamble melting in this warmth they've found again. It's the river ever flowing beneath their feet, and it's the littlest of things, like the frayed thread at the collar of Tsukushi's jacket that Jin longs to wind, unwind, around his fingers. It's Jin throwing his head back, meeting the gaze of city lights and feeling a raindrop land on his nose.

Tsukushi looks up, crestfallen. "Ah, it's starting to rain."

"Fitting," Jin murmurs. "Rain always makes me think of you. And us."

He sees Tsukushi's eyes widen, watches that smile light up the night again.

"Oh, I brought you something—"

Tsukushi reaches into the plastic bag dangling from his wrist, pulls out a blue popsicle in familiar packaging, and brandishes it like a _hard-won_ prize in front of Jin.

"My favourite," Jin says in awe, reaching to take it. "You remembered. Thanks, Tsukushi."

Tsukushi's delighted grin is a soft, triumphant exhale, the popsicle wrapper's plastic crinkle and the soda-sweetness of the ice on Jin's lips, all the things he knows well.

Another drop of rain lands on his eyelashes. He blinks it away, and then another. Tsukushi zips up his tracksuit jacket, turns an upraised palm skywards and turns to Jin.

"Kazama-kun… should we find shelter?"

Jin pushes his hair back. Savours another mouthful of his popsicle, shoots Tsukushi a _look_. He's rewarded with an instinctive, answering spark in Tsukushi's eyes, a flash of lightning reflected against that cloudy grey horizon.

 _There_ he is. The Tsukushi he met in the rain, all those years ago. Determined to play. Determined to play, _for Jin_.

"Race you to the nearest bus stop," Jin shouts, and then he breaks into a sprint before his heart bursts with the fullness of it all.

 _Not fair,_ Tsukushi could protest, _you got a headstart_ , except he doesn't; he simply picks up his feet and _runs_ too.

This is _them,_ tearing up the road. Jin, feeling daring, leaps over a stray cat and deftly sidesteps its tail, lets his laughter fly free when he hears Tsukushi's small yelp from behind him. They are together again and Jin thinks that the wind cannot get any more glorious than this.

He rounds a corner, street light misty in the drizzle. Caught in the soaring spray from a passing bicycle, he hears them now—

Those footsteps, inching level with him. Jin wears his smile like an open secret.

(He could keep gazing forward. He could speed up, and he _does_ , just a little. He could let his mind's eye fill in the picture, and it would, perfectly well, for he's been looking at Tsukushi for a long time, knows the rise and fall of his running breath, the relentless cadence of his pace, the way he gets so very flushed at times like this. The colour rushing to his cheeks, sun-kissed. He _knows_ him. Naturally.)

 _Idiot_ , he thinks, for he can tell just from listening that the soles of Tsukushi's sneakers are scuffed and worn. Tomorrow, he will have to take him shopping for a new pair. Tomorrow, they will wake to bluer skies, milk boxes and traffic crossings and the jazzy piano music they play in malls, and Jin will take Tsukushi's hand in his and remember the joy of simple things.

_With you, I could go anywhere in the world._

 

 

(So Jin turns, because he simply _has_ to look, after all.)

 

 


End file.
